


It Started With a Sniff

by TheLightFury



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Developing Relationship, Explicit Language, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 03:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30015411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLightFury/pseuds/TheLightFury
Summary: It was stupid. Sofuckingstupid. And yet it was true.He, Draco Abraxas Malfoy, was on the verge of tears thanks to a fucking muggle play!
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	It Started With a Sniff

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to OTPshipper98 for the cheerleading, beta, and help with the title!

It was stupid. So  _ fucking  _ stupid. And yet it was true.

He, Draco Abraxas Malfoy, was on the verge of tears thanks to a  _ fucking muggle play!  _

Okay, fine, the fact that it was muggle wasn’t a big deal anymore, and maybe he’d been curious about muggle things for a while now, but still! It was the principle of it. He was a Malfoy, for Morgana’s sake! A member of a once well revered, esteemed—even feared family. He was supposed to be above the atrocities that plebeians called ‘emotions’, and yet here he was, allowing some confounded nonsense called _The Lion King_ to make him weep! Thank Merlin his father wouldn’t hear about this.

It was all Professor O’Neill’s fault. If she hadn’t insisted on taking them to a performance of the bloody thing for Muggle Studies, he would have continued on merrily through life without ever watching Simba realise that the life he’d known had suddenly ended, the dreams he’d planned to make reality with relative ease were unobtainable, and his world was now irreparably destroyed. 

But he had. 

And now he was a stupidly shivering wreck, fighting to hold back tears.

_ Stupid fucking play,  _ he cursed silently, desperately staring anywhere but the stage. _ With its stupid fucking wooden animals, and stupid cunt fucking story. _

But cursing didn’t drown out the chilling music chasing Simba from the pride-lands, and still Draco’s eyes stung. Re-evaluating the worn, faded carpet as a glorious runway to freedom, he forced a hard swallow, when it happened. Right beside him. Mere inches away. 

_ He  _ sniffed.

Seconds stretched for centuries as Draco barely dared to breathe, waiting, listening, but no sound came. Slowly, the pounding of his heart slowed. But as a build-up to another ridiculously happy-clappy song began, unbidden, his eyes slipped sideways just in time to catch another decidedly wet sniffle shiver through that scrawny chest. His mouth fell open. 

Harry Potter, slayer of Moldy-Voldy himself, was crying— _ crying _ —over a stupid fucking muggle play.

Just like him.

***

“What do you want, Malfoy?” 

Potter’s exhausted voice cut through the raucous cacophony of chatter and laughter that was the intermission, practically making him jump out of his skin.

“Wh—what? Er, I mean,” Draco cleared his throat, “I’ve absolutely no idea what you mean, Potter.” 

“You were staring at me,” Potter sighed, not even bothering to spare him a glance. “After Mufasa died. Which means you noticed I was upset. And you’ve always had something to say about everything I do, so, whatever it is, just get it over with,” he muttered bitterly, staring at his stupid knobbly knees. 

Of fucking course, Draco rolled his eyes. Of course Potter’s ginormous ego would convolute everything so that  _ he  _ was the centre of attention. How could he just assume that he—Draco, divine and sublime in every sense of the word—would have anything to say to him? Why would he have even noticed anything about him in the first place?! It was ridiculous. Preposterous! Utterly and completely—

“Can I hold your hand?”

_ Fuck. _

In the instant it took Potter’s head to snap to him, Draco prayed to no less than 17 deities, twelve ancestors, and the soul of Albus Dumbledore himself for the ground to swallow him whole. But, as usual, either no one listened, or they unanimously decided to ignore him. Bastards.

“What?” Potter asked, after an excruciating century, finally sounding half-way alive.

“I said I have nothing  _ planned,  _ Potter!” he snapped frantically, brushing his trousers clean of imaginary lint with a little too much force than necessary. 

“No,” the Chosen Sod said slowly. “You asked if you could hold my hand.” Draco’s stomach churned sickeningly. “Why?”

But for once in his life, the ability to form words had apparently fucked off entirely. Realising he was gaping codfish-like under the searching gaze, he turned resolutely to the stage, cheeks flaming. But still, the prick watched him.

“If you have a problem,  _ Potter,”  _ he spat, fists clenching. But finally, with the dimming of the lights, the pillock reluctantly dropped his gaze, and Draco forced a very measured breath in an attempt to get his stupid shoulders to return to their normal level. 

He needn’t have bothered. 

As deafening applause assaulted his ears, hot, calloused fingers grasped his, slightly sweaty yet sure, as their owner stared directly ahead, jaw tight, breaths trembling. 

Staring at the bitten nails, Draco could barely swallow past the heart thumping in his throat as Potter adjusted in his seat and ignored him entirely. Yet as lush scenery morphed into a chilling, emaciated land, he knew the grip tightened slightly.

Breath stuttering in his chest, he dared squeeze back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed. Come say hi to me on Tumblr! @april-thelightfury115 :)


End file.
